PAGE 2
Under The Willow Tree
by
“On the shop-board,” he said, “lay two gingerbread cakes, one in the shape of a man with a hat, the other of a maiden without a bonnet; both their faces were on the side that was uppermost, for they were to be looked at on that side, and not on the other; and, indeed, most people have a favourable side from which they should be viewed. On the left side the man wore a bitter almond–that was his heart; but the maiden, on the other hand, was honey-cake all over. They were placed as samples on the shop-board, and remaining there a long time, at last they fell in love with one another, but neither told the other, as they should have done if they had expected anything to come of it.
“‘He is a man, and therefore he must speak first,’ she thought; but she felt quite contented, for she knew her love was returned.
“His thoughts were far more extravagant, as is always the case with a man. He dreamed that he was a real street boy, that he had four pennies of his own, and that he purchased the maiden, and ate her up. So they lay on the shop-board for weeks and weeks, and grew dry and hard, but the thoughts of the maiden became ever more gentle and maidenly.
“‘It is enough for me that I have lived on the same table with him,’ she said, and crack! she broke in two.
“‘If she had only known of my love, she would have kept together a little longer,’ he thought.
“And that is the story, and here they are, both of them,” said the baker in conclusion. “They are remarkable for their curious history, and for their silent love, which never came to anything. And there they are for you!” and, so saying, he gave Joanna the man who was yet entire, and Knud got the broken maiden; but the children had been so much impressed by the story that they could not summon courage to eat the lovers up.
On the following day they went out with them to the churchyard, and sat down by the church wall, which is covered, winter and summer, with the most luxuriant ivy as with a rich carpet. Here they stood the two cake figures up in the sunshine among the green leaves, and told the story to a group of other children; they told them of the silent love which led to nothing. It was called love because the story was so lovely, on that they all agreed. But when they turned to look again at the gingerbread pair, a big boy, out of mischief, had eaten up the broken maiden. The children cried about this, and afterwards–probably that the poor lover might not be left in the world lonely and desolate–they ate him up too; but they never forgot the story.
The children were always together by the elder tree and under the willow, and the little girl sang the most beautiful songs with a voice that was clear as a bell. Knud, on the other hand, had not a note of music in him, but he knew the words of the songs, and that, at least, was something. The people of Kjoege, even to the rich wife of the fancy-shop keeper, stood still and listened when Joanna sang. “She has a very sweet voice, that little girl,” they said.
Those were glorious days, but they could not last for ever. The neighbours were neighbours no longer. The little maiden’s mother was dead, and the father intended to marry again, in the capital, where he had been promised a living as a messenger, which was to be a very lucrative office. And the neighbours separated regretfully, the children weeping heartily, but the parents promised that they should at least write to one another once a year.
“That was the most delicious hour of my life!” he said, “and it was but a dream. Oh, let me dream again!” And he closed his eyes once more, and slept and dreamed.
Towards morning there was a great fall of snow. The wind drifted the snow over him, but he slept on. The villagers came forth to go to church, and by the road-side sat a journeyman. He was dead–frozen to death under the willow tree!